Contract
by maroongrad
Summary: A very angry Dracula is captured by a very determined Abraham Van Helsing. Yet another version of the capture of Alucard! Alucard told Integra the contract hadn't changed since her father's time...and this is how the contract was created.
1. Chapter 1

I wanted to continue To Possess but this story idea showed up instead and insisted I write it. It should be about 4 to 9 chapters long. I have the whole thing in my head, but it'll take awhile to get it all out. It starts off shortly after the end of Dracula. Dracula didn't die, and Abraham Van Helsing hauled the injured vampire to England to study.

The Capture

The vampire was still, unmoving. The bit which Dr. Van Helsing had placed in its mouth was firmly held in place by straps and buckles. The body was not stretched out, quite, but the hands and feet were held by thick manacles solidly chained to the wall. There was some give, yes, but Van Helsing had been careful to make certain that the vampire was unable to reach its head and remove the bridle that rendered its sharp fangs harmless and kept the blindfold over the mesmerizing eyes.

Van Helsing had chained the beast over a month ago, when he brought it back from Romania on his urgent mission to destroy the monster. The monster had been hauled from its coffin, held motionless by the Bowie knife through its heart, and restrained. Abraham had knelt in front of his captive, giving a final testing of the bonds, removed the knife...and the vampire had awakened.

x x x x

The vampire writhed at his feet, muffled snarls coming from the bitted mouth, and Abraham jerked back in startlement. It had gone from motionless to violently active with no pause, and the chains strained and vibrated with the force of its contortions. His hand tightened around the knife handle to a white-knuckled grip, but Abraham would not back away. Instead, he watched as the vampire fought the restraints, the men behind him ready with guns, knives, stakes, holy water...an entire arsenal of weapons, should the vampire begin to break those restraints.

But they held. The severe wounds from the failed attempt to destroy the monster, the long voyage back, the weeks of starvation...the beast couldn't break them, try as it might. It was still far too powerful to do anything with, but...it was now restrained. With a sort of bitter relief, Abraham watched his prisoner twist and fight, body arching off the floor, arms and legs pulling and straining...and the bonds held tight.

x x x x

Pain and fury. Absolute, blinding fury, that he should be trapped so. Dracula snarled, rage increasing even further at the muffled and unthreatening grumble that made it past the metal gag. Muscles strained as he fought to open his mouth and spit the bar out, but his head was held fast in some sort of device. This was not tolerable! His arms and legs moved, but the movement was limited, restricted, and while whatever enclosed his head reduced sound, he could still hear the clink and rattle of chains.

Chained! How DARE they! Wild with rage, he fought, ignoring the pain and the injuries this created. He was a Nosferatu, not something to be kept prisoner by mortals! He reached for his other forms, changing to fog, planning to leave his bonds and then devour the foolish men that had done this...only to find himself thwarted. He was far too diminished and weakened by his ordeals to change easily, and the men had done...something...that stopped him. Infuriated and frustrated, he fought and twisted, hoping that this time, the chains would warp and break, that this time, the continued damage would be too much and he'd be be free.

His neck burned and ached where a collar-a COLLAR!-restrained his head, his wrists and ankles were on fire, but he continued.

All he had to do was break a single chain. He'd have the leverage from the wall and floor he felt against his side and back, then, to snap another one, then another...and before they could escape, he'd shred those arrogant fools. Rage fed by the thought of their blood dripping from his talons and teeth, he fought on.

He'd escape. And then they'd pay.

x

The beast had fought the entire night, and it was dawn before he quieted. It was sudden...one moment arching up and straining, hissing in fury and effort...the next, motionless on the floor, like a puppet with its strings cut. Abraham was impressed, but also exhausted. The beast had to tire eventually, tire enough to listen to him. Until then, he'd simply have to wait. For now...he was going to sleep himself.

Leaving a man on guard to watch and directions to always, always have someone watching the beast, he went to his own bed to join the vampire in deep and dreamless slumber. 


	2. Chapter 2

It's about 1/4 done already. I hope to have this done tomorrow; with it out of my head, I can get back to finishing To Possess! For any new readers, if you're enjoying this, please head to my profile and start on Awaken Cold and Lonely. It's the first in the series for the longer stories, and the shorter ones are all stand-alones. I hope you enjoy! I do try to respond to all my reviews, so please send any suggestions, feedback, or requests and I'll do what I can. Thanks!

Care

The second night was a repeat of the first. The vampire woke with a growl, and immediately snapped its arms forward, attempting to break the chains again. It resumed twisting and turning, but with more calculation this time. Abraham tried to speak with the vampire, to reason with it, but the attempts fell flat. The vampire responded to any speech with furious snarls, and would renew its attempts to escape. Fresh blood oozed over the great bloody scabs on its arms, neck, and ankles, but the beast continued its efforts.

Abraham had taken pains to keep the beast secure while providing at least some comfort. Dracula could stretch himself flat upon the floor, indeed was forced to with the chains as short as they were. The manacles around his wrists were anchored into the wall a foot from the floor, as were the ones around his legs. The great metal collar about his neck was affixed to a bolt in the floor a few feet from the wall. He could move and twist about, but not sit upright, nor pull his arms all the way down to reach the collar about his neck. Abraham had hoped that this situation would be temporary...thick, heavy metal chains and a bare stone floor could not be comfortable, nor could having the arms extended past the head at all times.

Dracula had to be in pain, with the effort he was putting forth and the damage it was causing. The monster would not be released, but perhaps there was something he could do, after all. Putting two men on watch for the last few hours of the night, Abraham went to his rest. Nothing could be done while the vampire was awake and so violent, but he'd try something in the morning.

x x x x

Samuel and Thomas grinned to themselves when Van Helsing went up the stairs. They couldn't leave a mark on the beast, Abraham would be furious. But they could taunt it.

"Oi, lookit the new pet Abraham has!" "Does the doggy have rabies?" "Listen to it growl! Bark, boy, bark!" Each insult and taunt goaded the vampire into yet more strenuous attempts to break its bonds, and the blind head turned in their direction, tracking their movements, the few visible features contorted into a mask of rage. They continued their fun until the rising sun put the vampire to sleep.

x x x x

Dracula felt the approach of dawn, almost mindless with fury. As a human, he had been a prince! He had demanded, and received, the respect and obeisance of his birthright, rank, and achievements. After "death" he had emerged as the strongest of the Nosferatu, winning and holding territory far greater than any other had ever dreamed. He would NOT be taunted by a pair of low-class mongrel curs! Bad enough that Abraham, a mere human, had bested him...but these? Were he to even seem to break free, they'd wet themselves in fear and run whimpering to their Master! Intolerable! Great pride bristling and raging under the insults, he tore at his chains, fighting to break from them and rip those men apart. His last impression, as the sun rose, was of a tremendous, bloodthirsty frustration.

x x x x

Abraham approached the sleeping monster cautiously. The vampire looked dreadful. The hair was matted with filth and blood from the beast's exertions. Fresh blood caked over the dried blood on the arms and legs, and a great gall ran all about its neck. The hair, under the filth, had gone white and wispy, and the great body was reduced to that of an old man, muscles thin and stringy under puckered and wrinkled skin. He had never wanted to keep the vampire restrained this long, had fully expected the intelligent creature to cease fighting once it realized the futility of its actions.

The vampire refused to give up. Abraham had to admire its fighting spirit, frustrating as that was for him. But there was no cause for the beast to suffer, and he set about cleaning and caring for it while it slept. Cautiously, for he knew the beast had been awake during daytime hours before, but steadily and thoroughly.

The vampire would wake tonight, and find itself in less dire straits than before. Not released, and certainly not fed, for that would give it strength to escape. But each wrist and ankle had been gently and thoroughly cleaned, layered with salve, and carefully wrapped with thick bandages to protect the wounds. The neck, too, was wrapped, but more loosely so that the beast could swallow and turn its head. The worst of the filth had been cleaned away, and the vampire now lay on a pallet of canvas stuffed with straw, not the chill and hard stone floor. It was probably a useless thing to do for a creature so cold-blooded, but Abraham had nevertheless draped an old, moth-eaten grey wool blanket over the beast. It wouldn't hurt, and might help. He hoped that the vampire would wake, realize what had been done, and calm itself.

He hoped in vain. The sun set, the vampire woke with a muffled roar and a tremendous, forceful jerk at the chains, and began to fight again. At best, there was a short, startled pause before it began thrashing, but that was all. His voice still goaded it to snarls, the beast not responding at all to his words, but radiating a cold, mindless fury.

With a sigh, he went upstairs, leaving his assistants to watch the vampire again and report if anything, anything at all, should change.

x

Dracula was not so unaware as Abraham believed. He'd heard the man's words, his pleas for the vampire to calm itself, to listen, to consider his offer, but he'd ignored them. This, though, this held potential...

Those two reprobates, the worthless dog shit that had taunted him, were left alone with him again. And they'd been told to report to Abraham any change in his behavior.

And his restraints had changed. He wasn't certain at first, but feeling about his wrists while thrashing he was able to unobtrusively determine that, yes, he was bandaged. Certainly the pain was far less noticeable tonight, and no sticky blood sealed the restraints to him. A twist, and...yes. His neck, too, was wrapped, and the collar about it was loosened. Still much too tight to pull over his head, but...looser. He could twist and turn about freely inside it.

And now he knew how to escape. 


	3. Chapter 3

Having fun with this story, and from the five reviews I have received so far, it appears my readers are as well! This chapter is approximately the halfway point.

Diary

Above the angry monster, Abraham pulled out his diary. As was his habit, he finished each day recording what he had seen, what he had done. Sometimes, putting those observations and goals down in that book had brought clarity to him. This time, though, he was still at a loss.

"It is the third day, rather night, that Dracula has been awake. He still fights his chains and cannot be reasoned with or spoken to. In doing so, he has injured himself. The restraints on his wrists and arms have stripped the skin down to the palm and nearly a third of the way to the elbow. The ankles, to the tops of the feet and the bottom of the calf muscles, are equally bloodied. The neck has become so swollen that the collar no longer had a gap to allow swallowing and speech, but was instead partially embedded in a raw wound caused by his struggles.

I spent time today cleaning and bandaging the wounds and loosening the collar enough that the beast can turn freely. I also provided him with a pallet and blanket. He is a proud and powerful creature, and not deserving of abuse; he is a vampire, and only acting as such in his behavior. Punishing him for simply being what he is intolerable. Could I only convince him to cease resisting and fighting me, I could release him from those bonds and restore to him his coffin and soil.

He is a fearful monster, but looking at his wasted and injured form, that fear is tempered also with respectful pity. He is not meant to be caged and contained and chained, and his fighting spirit will not allow him any surcease. I am at a loss of what to do with him. This cannot continue, but it seems it will until he has brought himself to the brink of ruin and is incapable of more. I do not want a useless husk, but rather the proud and powerful Count Dracula.

My initial hope was that I could bargain with him, provide him with blood to eat, shelter, and protection during the day. In return, he would cease his predations on humans. He's far too marvelous a creature to destroy, assuming we could do so. But I cannot allow another Lucy, another Mina.

I pray that tonight some solution to this bedevilment will arrive. This cannot continue."

Abraham sat for several minutes, looking at the completed page as the ink dried, thoughts wandering and ranging about, trying to find some answer to this issue. The Count could not be kept chained, that was clear. Allowed any freedom, and the devil would go back to his murdering ways...likely starting with himself!

It was a conundrum. With a bleak, resigned outlook, Abraham took himself off to his bed.

x

Down below, the men continued their taunts. To the disappointment of Sam and Tom, the vampire reacted far less tonight. The struggling was less entertaining, weaker and slower, though still constant. Tom had taken to poking the beast with the handle of a broom and while the vampire reacted, it seemed sluggish and tired. "Lookee, the wee little beastie is all fagged out. P'raps he needs a bit of a lie-down?" "Oooh, the poor little boy canna move!" "Is Abraham's little pet giving up?" Taunts and insults could draw a low growl from it, but the beast was clearly tired and far less fun, though it still struggled weakly.

"Should we get Abraham?" Tom idly kicked at the vampire's leg, drawing a weak growl and a kick from the monster, but nothing more. "He's certainly changed."

"Perhaps." Sam eyed the beast. "He's still fighting, just tired. Not yet."

As they watched, the vampire grew visibly weaker. The growls stopped entirely, fading to nothing more than faint pants. A few half-hearted tugs at the chains, and then the vampire simply collapsed, motionless.

"Looks like 'e ran outta steam," chuckled Tom. "Nowsa time to fetch Van Helsing."

"Aye. Just ta be sure, though." Sam pulled back his foot and landed a vicious kick in the vampire's gut. A faint wheeze and a moment's scrabbling of claws on stone, and the monster stilled again. "Yep. Time to get him."

x x x x

The sound of their footsteps faded, and Dracula waited a few long seconds more, for his hearing was muffled and he had to be sure. With them gone, it was time to break those chains. Before, the collar around his neck would have prevented this, allowing maybe a single roll. Now, he could turn freely inside it.

Chains were very strong when pulled on. It was TWISTING them that would cause the break. And so he began to roll over and over and over again, coiling the chains tight at his hands and his feet. Quickly, quickly, for this must be done before Van Helsing arrived. Turn, turn, and turn again, rolling and rolling and rolling, the chains shortening as they bunched and contorted, lifting arms and legs from the ground.

Done, with no more leverage, no more twisting available. Concentrate, concentrate, and...NOW! Dracula slammed himself forward, yanking knees up and head towards his feet, as hard as he could. The chain on his neck yanked him painfully sideways...but he heard the groan and snap as a chain parted. His left leg was free.

He left the other to dangle a minute. Oh, that had hurt. Pain was something he'd learned to ignore long ago, but this was too much to write off so quickly. He had not healed from the knife wound, only ceased to bleed, and the hard kick from that mongrel had torn him again. The force of his movement had broken the chain, but torn him again inside...and with no blood, he wouldn't heal any time soon. His wrists, throat, and ankles screamed at him...but he had a leg free.

The chains were still twisted, and he brought that leg up, bracing it against the wall...and then SHOVING while at the same time yanking with his full force on the three remaining chains. The remaining leg chain snapped, a bit of metal flying across the room to collide against the wall with a sharp crack, the other chains rebounding and jerking noisily.

Legs free...and now he pulled both of them up, bracing them on the wall...and NOW! The bolt holding the chain for his hands flew loose from the wall, bits of rock fanning out beside it, and he felt them peppering his body as the chains pelted him. Painful, and they'd have broken a human's bones, but he was far, far more than human and shrugged it off. That damn mask... Scrabbling fingers found the clasps, and while the silver scorched, he had no patience and ignored the pain to simply twist them off. Heavy iron buckles lay under those clasps, and while the blisters made it difficult to feel and move them, it was still only a minute's work and he was spitting out the bloody metal bit and glaring at the bridle that had trapped his head.

With it gone, he could feel his powers, weak though they were. The mere proximity of that silver had been enough to thwart his change? Impossible. But he could do so now, and the manacles and leg irons fell to the ground amidst the fog.

A pleasant form, free of pain...but slow, so slow. Dracula forced himself back into his two legged form, though he'd been tempted by the wolf form and the speed it offered. But not yet. There were doors, and paws could not turn a knob. Standing to his full height, eyes blazing, he stalked towards the door and his prey.

x x x

"Did y' hear that!" Sam's surprised, and annoyed, eyes met Toms. They'd had stopped in the kitchen for a bite to eat before going upstairs. Tom had already been a bit peckish, and Sam had noted that if the vampire had quieted, Abraham might have them down there working with it all night. So, not seeing any need to hurry, they'd stopped at the kitchen to grab a bit of fortification while they could. The remains of a roast was sandwiched between thick layers of crusty bread had made an excellent and quick meal, one which they had been enjoying when the noise began.

"Sounds like 'e's not done fighting." They tilted heads, hearing the unmistakable but faint clanking of the chains as the beast fought. "Too dumb to know 'e's good and trapped. Well, no call t' be wakin' Abraham now, is there?"

"Nay, not til the bloody bastard 'as settled 'imself down again." Sam grinned. "An' a right bloody bastard 'e is!" Chuckling over his humor, they finished the last bits of their sandwiches and returned to the basement.

At least, they had intended to. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, they found that Dracula was, indeed, done fighting his chains. And waiting for them. And very, very angry.

They didn't die quickly, but Dracula made sure they couldn't scream first. He had his own plans for Abraham Van Helsing, the Good Doctor, and those plans didn't involve the man waking up. Not yet.

He had a very full meal, body restored, hair black, eyes blazing, before turning his blood-soaked form to the stairs and ascending them in search of the arrogant, foolish, suicidal human that had put HIM! in chains. 


	4. Chapter 4

Dracula intends to kill Abraham, and to extract full revenge during that killing. It won't be quick. And I think this story might be a bit longer than planned...but it's half done, maybe a bit more already.

Revenge

Where was the doctor? Dracula had never seen the house before, but if he had to go through every room to find and shred that bastard, he'd do so. Pausing at the top of the basement stairs, eyes blazing, he sniffed at the air. The entire house would smell of Van Helsing, but he could simply track him down by following the strongest traces. His lip curled as he recalled how those two imbeciles had refered to HIM as a dog. Well, they had met their ends quite fittingly. The sheer pleasure of ripping them apart had reduced his rage to something more manageable.

He'd soon rip the doctor apart, but the pleasant anticipation kept him from rushing. Instead, he stalked slowly and steadily down the hall, following the traces of scent, mouth split in an insane, gleeful, sharp grin.

Up the stairs he went, silent on the thick carpeted treads, then followed that scent through a large double door. It didn't look like the doors to a bedroom, and he wasn't overly surprised to find an office. A well-appointed office, with gaslights on the wall, a fireplace prepared and waiting for a match, deep rich wood paneling, and a mammoth desk. The door had been locked; behind him, the doorknob hung from the shattered splintered remains of the panel that had held it. It hadn't even slowed him down; he'd simply taken it, twisted, and tore the doorknob and wood loose. It had been a fine door, for a finely-appointed room.

This, then, was where his foe spent his time while HE mouldered down in that dank basement, locked in chains. A growl as he crossed to the desk, stalking towards it. There was an innocuous book resting upon it, with inkwell and pen beside it. Curiousity fought with rage, and he remembered the taunts of those louts. Perhaps there was something in here that would give him the ammunition to taunt Van Helsing with?

He wouldn't be killing the man quickly, and giving him a dose of mental anguish first would only sweeten the meal. There was no hurry, and he wanted to do this right, to do the man justice as he destroyed and consumed him. Revenge was a dish best served cold? His revenge would be ice.

Bloody talons picked up the book, recognizing it as a diary, the daily journal of the "Good Doctor" immediately. Lips twisted in scorn, Dracula read it. Time ticked past, and the vampire placed the book back on the desk, hooded red eyes staring at the wall beyond as he thought.

The man respected him, and he had to admit that he respected the mortal as well. To have recognized what he was facing, and then not run to hide in some foreign land? He had been impressed by this, and deeply surprised; no mortal had ever stood their ground against him. To have tracked him across the seas and the wild lands of his home, to have gone into the dark and empty castle knowing that the Brides were there, and to have killed them? Then fighting Dracula himself, bringing this terrible monster back to his home...and sleeping soundly while the Nosferatu was in the basement below?

Such bravery and resourcefulness deserved respect, yes. But to have placed him in chains, taunted him, harassed him? No...honesty forced itself forward. Abraham had not participated in that, had not been present. Dracula paced about the desk, considering.

Instead...the man had bandaged him. Red eyes fell to the swaths of material covering the wrists, though the skin underneath was now intact, healed. Another hand rose, tracing the folds of the bandage about his neck. No...Abraham had not injured him, not deliberately. Had even supplied him with a pallet, rather than leaving him on the floor. As a jailer...the man had been surprisingly responsible about his prisoner. He was different from other men, not a dog, but a true man. Brave, impossibly brave, generous of spirit...sharply, bitingly intelligent.

But to stay here? To give up the hunt, the hot red blood of his prey, the joys of hunting the night...to become a kept pet? Never. THAT was what the man had intended for him, and Dracula's lip lifted again in a sneer.

He'd kill the man, yes. Leaving him alive to hunt him again would be sheer folly. But...perhaps it would be a quick death. The man was an honorable foe, unlike the fools he'd eaten in the basement. He deserved an honorable death.

Rage cooled, the vampire left the office, following the scent again to the next floor, to the door of a bedroom. Behind that door slept Abraham Van Helsing, the only human to ever best him, the human that dreamed of and planned to keep a vampire as a pet. A fascinating human...but a dangerous one. Best to kill him and leave.

A taloned hand reached out to the doorknob, grasped it, and turned. 


	5. Chapter 5

There is a scene in the opening credits of the OVA showing Alucard in his throne, red eyes visible above the steepled hands in their white gloves, then bats fly out from him. That is the mental image I had of him in the scene below. Malice personified...but with a dark and brooding intelligence behind it.

Watcher

Abraham slept restlessly. He was tormented by thoughts of the suffering vampire and by the accusing stares of Lucy and Quincy. His dreams were nightmares as often as not, and the bloody state of the vampire and its self-inflicted injuries had given his subconcious more substance to base its horrors on.

Yet he slept on as the door opened and the dark form entered his room, moving silently to his side, and pausing at head of the bed, mere inches from the pillows his head rested upon, with hate-filled red eyes staring down at him.

x x x x

It was time to kill the man, remove him. He hated Van Helsing with a bitter passion for all that the man had done to him. Yet...such a man was rare. To have accomplished such feats against Dracula was...impressive. Fascinating. Reading the journal, it was clear just how brave, resourceful, and intelligent Van Helsing was. Having that man hunting after him again was a chilling thought, but as human and vampire, he had formed a deep respect for the rare sort of human that Abraham represented.

The men below had been nothing more than dogs. This one? Van Helsing? He was something more. Even in sleep, he radiated a sort of quiet and unshakable strength, and...he did not deserve to die in his sleep. He was a man, and deserved to die as a man should die. In battle, against a worthy foe.

Not slaughtered in his bed at night.

That was the fate reserved for dogs.

Hissing quietly to himself, Dracula withdrew. What to do, what to do. He'd kill the man eventually, but in honest battle, not a craven murder in bed. For now...he'd let the man know that Death had come to visit him in the night, but passed him by. Grinning wickedly, he soaked the palm of a hand in the blood impregnating his clothes, then pressed it against the wall above Van Helsing's head.

The sticky red print with the clear talon-marks would greet the man when he woke. His should be an interesting reaction, and Dracula regretted that he would miss it. But as the blood on the doors marked the houses to be passed over and spared by the Holy Spirit, the blood on his wall would do the same. He would spare the man...but what then?

He'd given no thought to any action beyond it. There was a high-backed chair in the corner of the room, near the window but still in the dark. Dracula seated himself in the tall chair, leaning back against the wood frame, hands steepled in front of his face as he stared at the man on the bed.

Oh, how he hated him. Admired him. Was fascinated by him, and, he had to honestly admit to himself, a small amount afraid of him, too. He wanted...he didn't know what he wanted. A steady red glare watched the man sleeping unaware on the bed, glowing out of the blackness of the corner, balefully glaring out above the pale white hands. It was unnatural for him to be uncertain of his actions, of what he would do, and why. He'd planned for nothing beyond Van Helsing's death. Brooding over the man's sleeping form and his future, Dracula passed away an hour.

Reaching a decision, he rose and left the room silently. With a slight smirk, he left the door just slightly ajar. Abraham would know he'd had a visitor, even if he initially failed to see the great bloody calling-card that had been left upon his wall.

x

First...to find a place to stay. Van Helsing's home was out of the question...but where? Roaming the land nearby brought him to another home, less grand than Van Helsing's...but large enough to have a large attic. This...had potential, at least for now. Thick yellow talons gripped the wooden walls, and Dracula moved easily to the roof, then to a dormer window. A few moments of work and it was open.

Empty, dusty, dark, and unused. Scenting the air carefully, Dracula determined that no one had been there for weeks, perhaps years. Certainly the dust on the floor was unmarked by any prints save those of mice. One dark corner was especially isolated and unused, filled with rotten steamer-trunks and an unmatched pair of broken, worm-eaten wardrobes. Nodding to himself, Dracula realized that a few old, dirty crates of earth and an old, battered coffin would go entirely unremarked.

It was no graveyard, and he'd find no true rest here. But it was near enough to move his coffin and earth safely by morning, secluded, and even with the sunrise, little light would permeate those dusty, dirty little windows. It was not perfect, but it would do. And later, later he would find that comfortable graveyard and room in a crypt.

Moving his coffin was nothing to a creature of his strength, and sharp ears verified that no human walked the halls of the house in the dark hours after midnight. It was swiftly carried up the stairs and safely hidden away in a hedge, then joined by a pair of small crates filled with the mouldering soil of his home. Carrying the coffin up the side of the house was less easy, but he had the strength of a vampire and it was a sturdily-built home with thick wooden pillars anchoring the corners, well able to support the slight weight of a vampire and the heavier mass of its coffin. The dormer windows were almost too small to admit it, but almost was not too small and with a few silent snarls, he was able to open them sufficiently to allow his coffin entry. The boxes of soil followed, one at a time, and then several minutes were spent restoring the undisturbed dust of the floor and adding a convincing layer to his new additions. Safe, his coffin was safe now, safe from Van Helsing's retribution, and he would rest safely inside. Doubtless Van Helsing would hunt for him, and he wished the man a fruitless search of cellars and tombs. A dusty attic, far above the ground, easy to access with large, open spaces and lit with windows? The man would never consider that a potential resting place for a creature such as Dracula, but would inspect every last dark hole in the earth if need be!

Dawn would not arrive for an hour or more, and he had no intention of spending that last bit of the night staring at the top of his coffin. Slipping out the window, he jumped gracefully to the ground, then pondered his options. He did so want to see Van Helsing's face when the man realized the vampire had been so close to his sleeping form. Wandering back to the estate, it was child's play to find a tree with a good view of the bedroom from the top branches. It was small hope that the man would wake before dawn and allow him this pleasure...but he could hope, and jaws gaped wide in a grin of anticipation.

x x x x

The breeze had been welcome, wonderful after so very long spent underground or encased in a coffin, the bright night sky a balm to his eyes that had been so long deprived of it...but he returned to his coffin unsatisfied.

The night sky had been fading to a pink, and the man slept on. Disgruntled and disappointed, Dracula was forced to amuse himself with the imagined reactions of his not-prey as he fled the arrival of dawn to sleep safely in the comfort of his coffin and a dark, dusty, disused attic. 


	6. Chapter 6

I wrote most of this last night. It's more detailed about his activities than I'd planned, but it gives the character some depth, so I left it intact and in fact added to it today. The story might end up longer than I planned, but I don't think anyone will complain too much...

Established

"Mr. Van Helsing?" The tentative voice of the maid reached his ears, pulling Abraham from a restless sleep. He'd had the most horrible dreams...

"Mr. Van Helsing?" The maid pushed the open the rest of the way, mouth opening in a surprised "Oh!" when she saw him still in bed. "Pardon, sir! I saw your door was open and thought you'd already wakened and gone. I'll come back later." The door clicked shut and he could hear her steps clicking down the hallway.

His door was open? He clearly remembered shutting it before bed, he always shut his door and locked it. What few things were precious to him were kept in this room, keepsakes and mementos, his family bible, the odds and ends with sentimental value, and he had no intention of giving a housebreaker easy access to them. Had he opened it in his sleep?

Sitting up in bed, rubbing his eyes to remove the sand of sleep, he stretched. It wasn't until he rose to put on his robe that he turned and saw the bloody calling card on his wall.

Face pale, he stepped back, hand reaching to brace himself on the bed. One word ghosted past his lips.

"Dracula."

True to Dracula's expectations, Van Helsing wasted no time in organizing a search of the nearby tombs and cemetaries. With no bodies found, he began to comb police records and reports, looking for stories of missing people, bodies drained of blood, mysterious deaths, anything that could point him to the missing vampire. He would not have another Lucy's blood on his hands, and he bitterly regretted not killing the beast when he could. He was also puzzled...why had he lived? The beast had killed none but the men watching him. No one; maid, butler, cook, groom...no one had a single scratch or bad dream.

It still gave him a chill when he remembered the bloody handprint. The monster had been there, right beside him, had leaned over his sleeping form to place that message. What had Dracula intended, other than to taunt him, flaunt his ineffectual attempts to constrain him, contain him, hunt him and find him?

x

Dracula found himself unable to ignore Van Helsing. Partly it was self-preservation, needing to make certain the man was not hunting him down with any success. The other part was an odd...fascination. Van Helsing was a worthy foe, the first he'd encountered in a very, very long time. Dracula's attention had turned to him with the single-minded obsession that plagued his kind, the same attention that had focused him on first Lucy, then Mina. Now it was turned on Abraham, and he found himself unable to leave the man alone. Van Helsing intrigued him, impressed him.

He found himself spending far too many nights on the balcony outside the man's office, eavesdropping on Van Helsing's plans and shamelessly spying on him. He had been correct; Van Helsing was utterly focused on his destruction with the same single-minded focus as Dracula. With the abundance of small graveyards dotting the countryside, Abraham had given up the search for him in one as an act of futility and focused instead on police reports and correspondence with colleagues about a mysterious form of anemia. Once his eavesdropping had assured him that resting in a graveyard would be safe, he'd promptly taken his coffin to one nearby and established himself in a crypt.

It was the first day of good, solid, deep rest he'd had in a fortnight. When he awoke, he simply couldn't waste the night spying on Abraham. It was time to return to business. He looked a rag-bag and knew it, and while he'd taken fortifying sips from a variety of ladies in the area, it wasn't the full meal he craved. With Abraham on the hunt, he'd been careful to leave them asleep in bed, waking with nothing more than a vividly sensual, pleasurable dream and a touch of light-headedness. Wiser, now, he'd bitten them in places less enjoyable than the very sensitive necks, but still accessible...and well-hidden under the normal layer of clothing. New clothes, a full meal, and something more entertaining than watching Van Helsing fret and pace and plot. Yes. Energetic and gleefully anticipating a very good night in London, Dracula sped towards the town at a pace that no mortal could match.

A meal, first. Dracula took on a stooped appearance, and, assisted by the tattered and filthy clothing, looked much like any other beggar out on the cold streets. Each beggar had their own place firmly established, and as a "new" beggar, he was pushed from their territory. One finally made the mistake of shoving him roughly while out of sight of anyone else...and Dracula took a meal. A rich, full, hot meal. Not so pleasant as dining on a lady, but abundant and satisfying. Having learned from the good doctor that bite marks would lead to his discovery, he was careful to slit the throat afterwards with a talon, turning the holes into merely part of the larger cut. Dropping the empty carcass, he turned to leave, and then paused. Cunning was necessary here, for he was up against a very worthy foe indeed.

Abraham, if he heard of this meal, would wonder where the blood had gone. While it was highly unlikely that he'd hear the report of a dead beggar man, much less have anyone inspect the body closely enough to notice the lack of blood...No. He was not going to underestimate this man again. Instead, he pulled the corpse to the curb, letting the head dangle over the edge. It would appear the blood had simply run into the gutter and been washed away with the filth of the city.

Pleased with this obfuscation, Dracula turned to the next item on his mental list. New clothing, and a bath. He was royalty, both before and after his death, and it galled his great pride to have been mistaken for a beggar. He was not above using the ignorance of Men to facilitate his dining...but the current condition was intolerable.

The tailor had several partially-finished suits that could be altered slightly to provide a fine fit. While he and his assistants toiled, minds fogged by Dracula, the wife and daughter filled a great copper basin with warm water. By the time Dracula had finished a long, luxurious bath, the first of the suits he had ordered was waiting. It wasn't as fine as the others, but it had been the closest fit of them all and needed the least tailoring. And he still had much to do tonight. It was not even midnight, and the better part of the night awaited.

Reinforcing the commands upon their minds, Dracula left the busy tailors to visit a few cobbler's shops. His long, narrow feet required some searching to find a pair large enough that were suitable, but he had the time. A pair of fine, deep brown boots and thick socks were added, and as an afterthought, dropped into a haberdashery to add a hat and belt to the ensemble.

On the way back to his tailors, Dracula stopped in his tracks at a realization. Even if he wiped their minds and convinced the tailors that they had been safe in bed all this time, they'd be sure to notice the missing suits, and report them as such. Suits that would fit a tall, lean man. Such an odd theft...it would be reported. Van Helsing might well hear, and then...No.

Much as it galled him to do so, he'd have to pay for those suits and alter memories. He was in a foul mood as he waylaid a trio of young lordlings that had expected their numbers and wealth to protect them. Instead, they woke with bruised heads, empty purses, and convincing memories of a mob of beggars taking them down. As an added flourish, Dracula had put the faces of the beggars that he'd encountered on the assailants in their false memory.

And it gave him an idea, one that left him smirking. No, Van Helsing would never track him through the tailors. He'd toyed with the idea of burning down the shop and the men in it, but discretion was the better path. A glorious blazing fire was a wonderful thing, and every building nearby would go up in flames as well. And that was simply too obvious. It would attract a great crowd to watch the fires and fight them. Instead, he planted a more appropriate memory in the minds of the tailors. A trio of drunken lordlings that had gotten into a fight amongst themselves over something trivial and ruined their fine clothing before they'd fully enjoyed the night. Unwilling to return home and face the ire of their fathers, they'd woken the tailor and provided plenty of financial incentive to work on suits in the middle of the night.

Believable. Odd, and the sort of thing they'd talk of to their friends, but no police report would come of this, no investigation. He left them with plenty of pounds and a clear memory of the lords, then went to entertain himself. It would be another hour before the last suit was finished, even though they were already a rough fit and had four men working on them. There was certainly time to find a lady for a more genteel meal than the beggar he'd consumed earlier.

His suit and money bought him easy entry into a brothel, and assured him of the services of a lady for the remainder of the night. With no hurry, he and the lady were both able to enjoy the encounter. He'd fed well, this was merely dessert, and he needed no reports of assaults or murder. Instead, he left the lady smiling on the bed with a generous tip and departed with the staff none the wiser.

His suits were done. While he'd made substantial inroads on the wealth he'd taken, there was still enough remaining to finish the night in style.

Watching Abraham had been entertaining and enlightening, true. But he had something more in mind, and the very last shows of the night were still being performed, though the bells had announced that it was two hours past midnight already.

An hour later, happy and content, he left the theater and its high-kicking ladies bedecked in feathers, collected his suits, and returned to his coffin. It bothered him to have to fold the suits and tuck them in about him, but he'd remedy that problem the next night. As it was, the efforts of the night had restored his confidence; fresh new clothes, a dozen people with false memories, a few pounds in his pocket, an excellent meal, and entertainment. Best of all, he'd been clever about covering his trail, and was quite smugly proud of it. Van Helsing and his little coterie had certainly taught him to be more respectful of human intelligence and determination. But he had the experience of centuries behind him and they had only their short human lives; outwitting them all, even Abraham, would be done. And he'd do what he pleased...right under their very noses.

He fell asleep happy with his lot...but wondering what his foe had planned while he was away. 


	7. Chapter 7

*Yes, I have this entire story planned out...just too busy and too tired to do much updating or to finish To Possess. Darn the whole responsible-adult schtick. This isn't polished and isn't quite what I wanted, but it at least progresses the story. Nothing exciting, just background and a little more insight into how Dracula is viewing Abraham. Van Helsing is his toy, his entertainment, and the focus of a vampiric obsession!*

Watching and Waiting

Another beautiful night. Replete and content, Dracula blinked drowsily at his coffin lid. Several miles away, Abraham Van Helsing paced and fretted. It wasn't long before Dracula was observing this, red eyes glowing with humor. The man was still stymed, still frustrated, and Dracula grinned. Abraham was an able foe, but he'd outwit the man. In the meantime, watching the doctor struggle was great entertainment. He'd stay in England, give the man the chance to find him, hunt him...and in the end, there would be a victor to this contest. Abraham would never match him in a battle of strength. Instead, it would be a matter of intelligence, planning, persistence and fortitude. He would never run from the man, nor would Van Helsing turn craven and run from him.

If he was staying in England, there were a few other things he'd need to do. While he slept well in the cemetary, he wasn't going to control the mind of a human every time he wanted a bath, or keep his clothes rolled up along him in the coffin. He owned a dozen pieces of property, he was a Lord, and he was going to exist like one. Time to find his solicitor. Well, not his solicitor, he doubted Harker would be of much worth, but there were others in that office.

Indeed...and all but one had gone home. The poor fellow working late found himself pinned by a red-eyed gaze as he toiled over the files of his clients.

"I had to leave the country unexpectedly and my return was delayed." Suave and persuasive, it didn't take too much effort to add a bit of mental coercion to the story. Dracula had bought properties, come to view them and select one for his home, inspect his new investments, and found his solicitor unstable and an urgent telegram from his homeland waiting for him. A prompt return to his own country, a lengthy illness, and now he was back to England and ready to plan for the usage of his properties and investments.

Living in one was out of the question, for Van Helsing undoubtedly knew of each of those residences. Finding him should be a challenge; he was not about to hand over his location to the man on a silver platter! However, a source of income and a home was necessary unless he intended to continue to languish in a cemetary with his worldly belongings tucked about his feet!

Instructions were left for a few of the properties, including that damned Abbey, to be sold. It appeared that the current market would actually allow him to make a tidy profit on them! The others were to be managed by an agent selected by his solicitor, leased out as possible, sold if an excellent price was offered. Collecting a few necessary names and files of a few new properties Dracula might be interested in, he left the dazed man behind him, now busily working on his requests.

Income would be assured. Renting properties...what a curiously English approach to ownership. But sensible. And he'd applied enough pressure to be certain that the agent would select a suitable landlord, and those properties should provide a consistent stream of money.

Bankers kept bankers' hours, and while he could have roused himself during the day to deal with this problem, Dracula had no intention of putting himself out so much. Instead, one of those names was that of a clerk at the bank where he had established himself. Tapping at the second-story window brought the sleepy face of the man to it, and a bit of pressure presented an invitation to enter. A new account, with a new and fictitious name, one that was protected from any casual request for information...not a terribly unusual request for a noble, though this account was not to maintain a mistress. His old account, languishing while it collected a petty amount of interest, was to be reactivated...and the clerk would remain late the next night to handle all these affairs and receive the required signatures.

Money, now. Enough to easily buy suits, horses, carriage, to purchase a new residence and hire the staff to maintain it and himself in the proper style. He'd have to make certain that no one would be speaking of these actions to Van Helsing...the man could use that to trace him. Neither the bank clerk nor solicitor would speak of it, but their superiors would have to approve the paperwork.

Draining, but necessary. Two more visits, two more late-night tappings at windows while the moon made its traverse of the sky, two more minds fogged and prepared to be silent on the status of his accounts and his actions. Careful questioning...yes. Van Helsing had asked them to report if his acquaintance, Dracula, returned to England, as Dracula had expressed an interest in purchasing his home. The clever bastard had also left directions with the bank about a funds transfer that would be completed only with his signature; when the Count contacted the bank, they were to contact Abraham so that he could deposit a substantial sum into Dracula's account. Clever man, very clever...he had requested no information on the account or anything that would raise a red flag, but merely refused to complete a transaction until the last possible moment.

Abraham looked a miser to them, pulling every last cent of interest out of the money as long as he could keep it in his possession, but he didn't look suspicious.

A worthy foe, but one that was again outmaneuvered. Dracula would access his accounts, establish himself comfortably, and watch Van Helsing fret and search and strain attempting to locate and destroy him. It promised to be quite entertaining. Eventually, it would come to an end, and he would have to destroy the man. But not until Van Helsing had found him using his own resources, been humiliated upon realizing the extent of the vampire's activity and the luxury Dracula intended to indulge in, had the presence of the vampire and its obvious existence, social activities, its sheer visibility, rubbed into his face like salt rubbed into a wound.

Then, they would contest, and one of them would fall. It would be the human...but there was no point in ending the game too soon.

Abraham was far, far too entertaining. Unable to resist any longer, Dracula ignored the last few errands he'd expected to accomplish by dawn to return to Hellsing's estate and spy on the man. The lights were extinguished, no one moving on the estate, and Dracula scowled in frustration. His toy had retired for the night; his visits to his solicitors, the clerk, their superiors...it had ticked away the minutes until he'd arrived too late for his nightly entertainment. Snarling to himself in frustration, he dropped to Abraham's bedroom window, glaring in at the slumbering form that slept on oblivious to the death outside the windowpane.

With ill grace, he returned to his coffin. There were hours to go until dawn, but nothing to accomplish. Few entertainments waited in London, none that he would want to attend. He was not hungry; the death of the tramp and his dessert from the whore would satisfy him until the next night, and he was too frustrated to wish to hunt for the pleasure of it. He WANTED to gloat over Abraham's frustration, fear, and anger while he arranged matters entirely to his liking.

Instead, he spent the time pacing about the countryside, tearing apart a fox for the sheer pleasure of the blood and pain. It eased his frustration to a small extent, enough that he could settle and relax. A large marble statue made a comfortable perch to let the last bit of the night pass away in the calm silence of his cemetary, then, as the sky pinked with dawn, he slipped into his coffin and into sleep.  



	8. Chapter 8

*It's short but I'm busy...I had so many reviews I felt I really ought to get SOMETHING posted :) hope everyone enjoys!*

Chapter 8...Horde

It was...chilling.

Abraham Van Helsing stared at the reports that now littered his desk, from all the summaries and analyses and police records and obituaries. He'd thought to track Dracula by tracking his depredations, and he'd found clear signs of a vampire in London. And in Oxford. And in the Scottish Highlands. And Liverpool. Manchester.

Every major city and many of the rural areas were filled with evidence of a steady set of vampiric depredations. Lunatics with leprosy? Possible. But that advanced a case of leprosy? Most likely ghouls. So many young maidens, children, dead of pernicious anemias despite being in perfect health until very recently.

One or two vampires, well, he'd expected them to muddle the hunt a bit. It would simply be a matter of finding RECENT deaths in an area that had not previously reported such. But instead he was finding a pattern of widespread depredation, of unexpected illnesses and unexplained deaths, spread throughout the land.

Vampires could not cross running water, and the North sea and English Channel should have been an insurmountable barrier to most. He really had not thought to find more than one or two, if any. Dracula, with his age and power, could have been expected to cross the sea safely. But he very clearly had not been the first.

The reports went back decades; as far back as he searched, he found them. Most of his reports came from the hospitals and the morgues that had handled the bodies, and it was difficult to search through the records prior to the organized system of medical faculties. He shuddered to think what the records would show if he truly began to examine all of them, in depth...if he had far greater access to police records and to old newspapers from all across the island.

He wouldn't be hunting just Dracula. Ethically, he could not ignore these depredations.

He'd be taking on the entire vampiric population of the Isle...and have to hope that he'd locate Dracula while doing so. Two months of searching and hunting and effort had resulted in greyed hair, bags under his eyes, exhaustion, frustration, and not a single clue as to the vampire's whereabouts. Unless and until that canny old bastard slipped up, he had no chance of locating the beast.

His only real hope was that the Count had returned to his homeland, but now?

The Count was no longer his only worry. There was a female vampire that had killed a few children and ghouled a young man less then ten miles away, all of this within the last few years. She was young, he hoped, and close...and she'd be his first hunt.

x

Red eyes slit with anticipation and a sharp white grin appeared under them. Abraham was having no luck, none at all. But the man intended to go hunting for vampires?

Brave, indeed. Dracula would have to keep an eye on him during the hunt, make certain that the man had no tricks up his sleeve or unexpected weaponry. And, of course, he was not about to miss any of the entertainment that this human was providing! 


	9. Chapter 9

(Yes, finally, an update! I'm trying, people...just no chance lately to do much writing at all. But it's getting there. Thanks!)

First Hunt

Dracula watched happily, mouth gaping into a grin. He'd left his comfortable little estate as soon as the sun set, knowing that his human intended to try and hunt a vampire.

Fascinating. Abraham was simply fascinating; the man's mind in no way worked like that of any human he'd met in the long centuries. First recognizing his own actions as those of a vampire, then defending other humans from him, then going so far as to organize them and hunt him, and finally capturing him and bringing him back to England to, of all things, STUDY him and learn about vampires!

And now the man was out to hunt yet another vampire. He was simply astounding, entertaining, and Dracula was not about to miss a moment of this. The sun had set and, with the sky still pink, he'd raced to Abraham's home...and found him gone. The irritation had lasted only moments, for he'd rather expected that the man would be traveling during daylight hours, and he already knew the destination. And on four feet, he'd be there quickly.

And here he was, perched high in a bare-branched oak with a fine view of the proceedings, his human down below stalking a vampire. He was humming with pleasure, eyes bright shining, amused and entertained and delighted by the sheer persistence and brave faith of this mere man. Abraham was quite a worthy foe, even if only human.

x x

Damn brush. He'd known the vampire was most likely in the large cemetary, but it was full of overgrown crypts and vanished graves, impossible to locate during the day. The radius of its predations extended from this graveyard, but where in the grounds the vampire existed, he had no real idea. No disturbed earth, no paths through thickets, nothing to indicate a lair. And so, he was here in person, hoping to find the beast as she hunted that night.

He was a lone male, decent prey and bait all on his own. With his dark clothing and somber expression, he was careful to convey the impression of a grieving visitor. The vampire wouldn't be expecting a hunter; he only hoped that she'd attempt to seduce him rather than simply attack him.

Vampires were fast. If she simply went for his throat, he was a dead man. If she chose to play with her food, he had a chance. But she had to find him first.

"Sir?" The soft, feminine voice came from his right, tentative and soft and hesitant.

She was playing with her food.

Unfortunately for her, the main dish had his own plans, as well as silver bullets, stakes, holy water, and a shirt under his cloak with a dozen delicate silver embroidered crosses.

x x

It was amazingly brief. The shock of the sheer abruptness of the hunt had frozen Dracula in his tree. He'd expected a bit of banter, that the tramp would attempt to hypnotize Abraham, had anticipated a battle of wills as the human fought her control, had expected a great many things.

Abraham would never be predictable. At the soft call of the vampire, meant to disarm him, to trigger protective instincts instead of self-preservation, to imply harmlessness, calling for assistance, Abraham had not played the vampire's game at all.

"Ma'am?" Realistically confused-seeming, the man had turned to peer about for the vampire. The hands had remained in the coat pockets, slowly drawing out...and as soon as Abraham had turned enough to see his prey, he'd fired.

The delicate lass with the tragic face, looking so lost and alone, didn't even have time to even register what her prey had done. The guns had come out, one in each hand, and Abraham had fired again, and again, and again. The first few bullets had struck her body, the vampire's facade of innocence falling and a snarling beast showing itself, and then the next ones had struck her heart.

Less than five seconds passed from when she'd spoken to when the vampire was a settling pile of ash.

Dracula had intended to call out to Abraham and congratulate him after the hunt, but the sheer rapidity of its conclusion and the deadly accuracy of the bullets kept him quiet. The man had been practicing his shooting skills.

A lot.

And effectively.

Wide, respectful red eyes watched as the man went to inspect the detritus of the dead vampiress, then returned to his horse to ride home.

Humans were toys. Abraham, though...he seemed so much more than human. Ignoring the cold shiver down his spine, Dracula ghosted after the man as he rode home, making sure nothing befell this fascinating, intimidating human creature. He'd taken out a vampire, granted, a young vampire, but all alone, at night, and in moments.

There was no chance he'd risk something as simple as being thrown from a spooked horse take his human away.

As Abraham settled into his office to write down the night's proceedings, red eyes watched him as closely as ever. This time, there was far less amusement...and far more respect. 


	10. Chapter 10

*We've got unexpected guests this week. They're awesome, we're watching Hellsing, in fact...but it does delay getting this posted ;)*

Theft

His new home was...acceptable. Large windows with fine drapes, a small but serviceable ballroom, billiards room, all the necessary accoutrements for a house for a minor noble...including a small cemetary with a half-dozen family crypts. It was an uncomfortable distance from Van Helsing's, though, and even with the speed of a supernatural wolf, his visits had been curtailed. Visits to London had proven entertaining and enlightening. Amusements as a human had been limited to traveling the ater troupes, minstrels, and court jesters, so the opportunity to enjoy an opera, a ballet, and theaters from fine to bawdy was not something he scorned.

He'd developed quite a taste for such shows, and a definite taste for the ballerinas and bawdy dancers. Theaters entertained him late at night, and early evenings provided him the chance to view the great bones of dinosaurs now proudly displayed alongside the Egyptian relics in the museums and fine homes. Those homes had been happy to welcome him to fetes and gatherings, and he'd rapidly gained a very modern knowledge base and dined on many slender and perfumed necks. Yet, time and again, he'd found himself leaving the various homes and gatherings early, drifting instead to the Van Helsing estate, watching Abraham, admiring and wondering and anticipating.

He was always careful to stay out of sight, to leave no trace of his careful and constant monitoring, and it kept him a frustrating distance from the man. Frustrating, but safe. Eventually, their interaction would come to a head and one of them would perish. For now, he was having far too much fun and too thoroughly entertained to hasten such an end.

x x x

Another hunt! Knowing that his human intended to hunt that night, Dracula had hidden away again in the nearby house, spending the day wrapped in a blanket in the corner of the attic. As soon as the sun set, he was up and ready to follow Van Helsing. The last hunt had been over impressively quickly; would this one be the same? Fortunately, this new vampire was closer to his own estate; there was no need to race to the Van Helsing home and track his foe, he could merely go and wait. Their lair was within a few miles of his own, both of them having chosen a residence within easy reach of London proper. He'd noticed this vamipre and her child when he'd first moved to his new property; weak and worthless, they'd sensed his own power and had the intelligence to stay well away. He ignored them, they avoided him, and with all of London to dine in, there had been absolutely no reason to even acknowledge them.

Until Abraham decided to hunt them. It had been delightful, if a bit unnerving, to realize that the man would be hunting so close to where he had placed his coffin! Leaning back against the shadowed side of a crypt, hidden in the deep blackness, he surveyed the small cemetary and waited, and watched.

x x x

Abraham sighed, pushing back his hat and rubbing the sweat running down his face. It was unseasonably, unbearably hot for England that night. His heavy red coat and hat were suitable for the wet weather typical of the island, not the balmy steamy heat of this night. He was hunting a vampire, there was no cause to do anything to make himself more vulnerable...and having sweat stinging his eyes would do exactly that. Grumbling, he folded the coat and let if upon a gravestone, hat perched atop it. He needed to concentrate on finding that vampire; a hunt through the cemetary had not revealed any likely hiding place for the coffin, and he wasn't certain this was even the right cemetary! If not...the next night, he'd try another local burial ground, and search until he found the beast. For tonight, he'd have to hope he was early enough to catch it emerging, hungry and hunting and thus making itself vulnerable.

He wasn't expecting ghouls; there had been no report of them. Swearing quietly under his breath, Abraham aimed and fire again. Five of them, but he'd nearly emptied both pistols of bullets dealing with them. Slow, stupid, but deadly, they'd lurched after him with a slow, but organized, advance, and he'd retreated, fired, retreated, and fired. One left, and his last bullet placed a hole directly in its forehead before it slowly fell to ash.

Abraham didn't even notice. As soon as the bullet had left the gun, he was pulling more out of his pockets, reloading quickly and desperately. Where there were ghouls, there were vampires...and with no bullets, he had no long-range weaponry. And letting a vampire get close enough to use a cross or sword was to tempt death. They were simply too strong and too fast.

The last bullet in the first gun, he began to snap the cylinder into place...only to see something flash a hairs-breadth from his hands. Jerking backwards with a gasp of shock, he saw the decapitated body hit the ground, and go to ash. It was only a moment, in the dark of the night, but that glimpse was enough to confirm the body was a vampire, and not a ghoul; silver-white and not rotten-gray, no bare bones or rot.

And something had killed it, inches from him. Had it been attacking him? Using the distraction of his reloading to spring on him and kill? His blessed and embroidered shirt might have slowed it, the cross on his neck helped to repel it, but it hadn't been slowed or repel. It had been destroyed.

What had stopped it? What was powerful enough to kill a vampire in front of him, without him seeing it?

Probably nothing good...and with a rush, he put his back against the rough, cold stone of a substantial monument, eyes scanning the grounds around him, loaded gun in hand, looking, looking. A crying, shrieking wail of fury and loss, and a furious vampiress appeared, keening over the ashes of the first one...then spinning to snarl at him.

She made it two steps before the bullets stopped her, slamming into her face and head, her ashes carrying on the breeze to continue her advance and dust lightly over his clothes.

Two of them. Child, and maker. And the ghouls. He should never have come here alone. This was no new, single, foolish vampire. He'd have been dead already if something, someone, had not destroyed the first vampire.

Fight over, he leaned against the monument, feeling his knees tremble in reaction. Gun, bullets...gun...reload...Yes...important. Shaking hands fumbled bullets into the second gun, loading it as his eyes darted about, searching for a threat. Nothing. Only two piles of ash, the glint of moonlight on the expelled cases. Not even a breeze to wave the grass about on this hot, humid night. No sound other than minor insect noises...nothing.

Walking to his horse would leave his back exposed to whatever was hunting him. Foolish, risky...

He spent the rest of the night with his back against that cold stone, looking about, watching and waiting. Only when the sun rose did Abraham leave the safety of that shelter and make his way to his dozing horse, stiff and exhausted.

The tombstone where he'd left his hat and coat was bare. 


	11. Chapter 11

*Wow. I got online to find new chapters for Wild Ones, Caeli et Inferno, even The Real King. It shamed me into finishing this chapter and getting it online, too!*

After The Theft

The trip home was long but uneventful. Even exhausted, Abraham found himself unable to sleep. What had killed the first vampire? He was fairly certain that heads did not simply fall off vampires, no matter how young. The vampire had been inches from him, and he'd been caught with empty guns. And whatever had destroyed it had been just as close.

He'd been damn lucky. The first hunt had made him overconfident, especially after catching Dracula. He was too old to be this foolish. No more hunting without backup of some kind. It could have gone so very, very badly. Chilled by the thought, even with the bright afternoon sun shining through his window instead of a black cemetary, with his body worn out by a night spent alert and waiting for danger...he was not going to sleep any time soon.

Far across London, Dracula slept soundly in his coffin, buried in the rich red folds of the jacket, hat resting beside his head.

x x x

Abraham was pinned by the angry stares of his former companions, but he refused to be embarrased by his failure. "I had the Count here for weeks until he escaped. I failed, but my failure was in selecting the men to whom I entrusted the guarding of the monster. Yes, Dracula escaped, but he seems to have fled England. I am looking for him, but I've yet to find a sign of him." Abraham paced, tall and solid form moving stolidly through the room, hands clasped behind him.

"I won't make that mistake again. I cannot locate Dracula, but I have found multiple other vampires." Clear grey eyes pinned the others in place. From Oxford to the Scottish moors through all of Wales, I find deaths and illness and disappearance that point to an infestation, one that predates the arrival of Dracula by decades, perhaps a century. And the number of them continues to increase. I've destroyed two, and their ghouls, but something else destroyed a third before it could attack me." His eyes closed in a brief shudder. "It was a hands-breadth from me. No more. And I was unarmed; loading bullets at the time, in fact. I nearly died on my last hunt."

He turned back towards the group that watched him with anger and fear at his confession that Dracula had vanished from his care. Mina and Johnathan, Seward, Arthur...all of them present, all of them reacting, and badly, to his message that the vampire had escaped and not been found, not killed, not recaptured. "I can't ignore these beasts, can't ignore their depredations, can't consign another victim to the fate of poor Lucy. But I also can't hunt them on my own. I need your assistance; either directly, or by helping locate others that would be able to face down these monsters."

There was anger, dismay, and fear. But by the end of the night, this had been set aside to deal with the problems at hand. How to find Dracula, if he was still in England at all. How to find and fight the other vampires without dying themselves. And finally...what had attacked the vampire on the last hunt, why, and...why in the world had it claimed Abraham's coat, if that was what had happened?

x x x

The creature that had attacked the vampire on the last hunt was currently wearing the coat and the hat. They smelled strongly of Abraham's distinctive scent, a constant reminder of how he had taken it from the human, a fair exchange for his assistance during the hunt. A brief snarl lifted his lip at the thought, that that mere pup of vampire had dared attack his human, had nearly stolen his amusement and laid all his hopes and plans to waste with its impetuous actions.

But it had failed. And he himself had moved right under the man's nose, unobserved, and taken the clothing. Abraham still had not determined or truly even suspected that it was HE who had done so, amusing in and of itself. He'd been very focused on the man for the first two nights after the hunt, obsessively watching him, still upset that his toy and foe and possession had nearly been taken from him.

Now, that distress and anger had eased. Smug in his new red coat, matching hat pulled low over his head, he strode through the theater district, cutting a distinctive figure as he went to watch the high kicks of the dance hall ladies, and possibly grab a bite to eat afterwards.

Best of all, the blood wouldn't show on the red.

Was that why Abraham had chosen the color? Clever human.

Humming happily, he stepped into the dim building to see the brightly-lit, feather-bedecked, glittering ladies on their stage.


	12. Chapter 12

*Yes, the reviewer that mentioned the distinctive coat apparently picked up on a bit of foreshadowing :D*

Theaters

"When was the last time you left your Estate for anything but business or something to do with a vampire?" John's voice was playful, but Seward's eyes were serious. Abraham couldn't fault him for the seriousness...thinking back, he couldn't even remember. From the time they'd returned from Romania, he'd been focused on containing the vampire, learning about it, then tracking it, then the other vampires.

"Since before I learned about Lucy." Abraham's somber eyes met John's. "There has been too much to do to indulge in anything frivolous and not enough hours in the day as it is."

"And so you make decisions such as hunting an unknown vampire, at night, alone." Seward's shaggy head shook in negation. "You are too focused and you've lost perspective. We'll join you, yes. Arthur is adding a few of his men, too. But YOU need to take some time to relax and regain your common sense. Last year you'd never have done something so foolish, never gone into that cemetary alone. Step back from this, for a night at least, maybe more." The eyes were uncompromising. "When you're centered again, able to think clearly, I'll clear you to return to your research. But for now, I'm the acting doctor and you are on vacation."

As Abraham watched, stupefied, John rose and walked to the pile of newspapers on the desk, sorting through them at a glance, then pulling a heavy folded stack out. It landed on Abraham's lap with a quiet "whump" and John grinned at him. "Pick a show, a theater, a fine restaurant. I'll let the driver know to have the horses ready for this evening."

x x x

The evening would probably have gone better if John hadn't asked him what he'd thought of the play. It didn't take long before the doctor had realized that Abraham had missed the entire second half, spending it instead thinking about his close call, musing over what sort of creatures would have been capable of the interference, wondering about the missing coat, considering adding additional guns and weaponry to reduce the likelihood of running out of ammunition...

In short, everything the was supposed to not think about for the evening. Another stack of papers hit his lap.

"Pick something that WILL distract you. You do no one, including yourself, any good at all when your mind is spinning in circles over your vampire problems."

x x x

A burlesque show. Not his normal fare at all; in fact, he had not attended one since his first year of medical school! A thrill of anticipation ran up his spine as he followed a rather smug John and Arthur to the theater. He was almost embarassed, but...it had been far too long since he'd been with a female or enjoyed any of their feminine charms, and the thought of the flash of those delicate limbs on the stage had caused him to pick up his pace.

It worked. For the first time in months, he found his thoughts far, far from his problems. The gleams and flashes in his mind's eye belonged to sequins and rhinestones, not sharp teeth and glowing eyes, and he smiled with anticipation during the break between shows.

"Feeling better?" John's knowing smirk accompanied a fresh beer and Abraham had to laugh. "Enjoying the show?"

"Much. Much better. This...was a wise idea, my friend. Staying so focused for so long, yes. I was making foolish mistakes." Glancing fondly back to the stage, he motioned with the flagon of bitter ale. "Let's go back, the curtain will be up soon."

Seated comfortably in the box seats of the balcony (there were advantages to Arthur's social position!) the three of them chatted idly about the various charms of the ladies from the first show, waiting for the second. Fanfare rang out from the pit orchestra, the red curtain drew back, the light gleamed out from the stage lights...and in their glow, from the corner of their eye, a matching flash of red.

A distinctive, rich, bright red.

No, it couldn't be. But as the show started, and everyone disappeared back into their box seats, he couldn't shake what he'd seen from his mind. A lady in a red dress...no. Not here. Not at this show. Well, perhaps a lady of the evening, her time purchased? That would explain the eye-catching color that had swirled and vanished before he could see it.

x x x

He was stammering out an explanation to John and Arthur of why he had once again missed the second half of a show...when the bright red flashed again. With a very visible hat that had been his own a week prior. And lost in the crowd immediately as the rush of happy, drunken men flooded back out into the streets.


	13. Chapter 13

*Whoo hoo! Another chapter!*

After The Theater

"Whatever or whoever stole my coat, they were there. Well, at least the coat was. And the hat." Abraham's emotions were on a roller coaster. Partly convinced that he hadn't seen what he thought he saw. Partly wondering if someone had simply found or purchased or been given the coat by whatever had taken it originally. Terrified that what had killed the vampire was what had taken his coat, and that the powerful creature was walking among the crowds and taking them as its prey. Guilt, that he'd missed such a creature in his research and more guilt that he'd allowed it to escape without catching more than a brief glimpse of his clothes. A fluster of anticipation, that he should hunt it, and cold calculation and forethought racing about as to how he should do just that.

"It was definitely your hat? No chance of a mistake?"

"Absolutely none. I had seen Quincy's ridiculous "cowboy hat" and tried it on, and found that it was extremely effective at keeping me dry and my eyes shaded from any direction, solid enough not to blow off easily, and water resistant. I had one made based on his hat but with a more Continental style, and to match my coat. I supposed the modiste that created it for me could have made another, but I find the likelihood to be minimal. That was my hat, and most likely my coat."

The next day found them scouring the cemetary for any clues or indications of what might have taken the clothes and what had killed the other vampire. Their search was entirely unproductive, no marks on the ground or other indications, only the prints of Abraham's own booted feet in the shelter of the monument. It seemed they'd have to try and find the owner of that red coat and hat, and begin there.

x x x

A snarl lifted the bloodless lips from the sharp teeth. Abraham was consorting with those men, the other hunters. Abraham was HIS, he wanted to spy on ABRAHAM'S plans, to contest against ABRAHAM, not their ideas. It was not their position to work against him, to find him, to hunt him. Interfering wretches. He'd arrived late that evening, hoping to enjoy a night of spying on his human, to find the man busy talking with John Seward and Arthur Holmswood instead. They'd agreed to help Abraham hunt, to help keep him safe...Infuriating. HE was guarding Abraham. Not them. HIM. It was HE that would watch Abraham on hunts, and they would interfere. So furiously angry, he caught himself growling! With a huff to himself, he left his perch outside the window to return to his own residence. Damn them. He'd traveled many miles to watch Van Helsing and spent less than five minutes outside the window before anger drove him away.

Furious at the wasted evening, he turned his tracks towards London. Ripping apart a few of those tramps and beggars might console him and ease his anger; at the least it would be a start.

Damn interfering bastards. 


End file.
